


I stay conscious if you promise the same

by karlamartinova



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Character Study, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 20:24:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karlamartinova/pseuds/karlamartinova
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are many things she wants to say to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I stay conscious if you promise the same

**Author's Note:**

> Skyfall AU. The title from Lua by Bright Eyes.
> 
> Edit: Big THANK YOU to persiflage for beta!

_Contrary to the popular belief, M never took any of her agents to bed. A successful mission was her only goal, save the Queen and country, and then go home and try to forget with a glass of the best whisky money could get her. They tried, they always tried, by being cheeky and flirty and seductive, but she had promised herself that she'd stop sleeping with men who weren’t her husband after she got her first desk job._

_She was one of the few 00s who got promoted instead of killed. She very much doubts Bond will be one of them too._

Everything aches and for a second she thinks she’s back in Berlin lying under a pile of concrete. She hears a gunshot too but it sounds wrong, distorted, coming through a thick glass panel and only when her eyes are finally forced open does M realize it’s a ringing phone.

“Mom,” both the phone and the voice belong to her daughter and she tries to speakbut her mouth is dry and her tongue feels too heavy. Clara moves to her side and pushes the button over her bed.

“The doctor will be here in a moment. Oh, mom, I was so worried.” Her voice is small and sad _,_ and she wants to reach and touch her _,_ but her body doesn’t feel hers, it feels foreign and for a second she feels dead. But then she catches a glimpse of Bond through the window and the events of last couple of days all come back to her.

She’s alive but it feels like a change of plans that were never hers.

  

 

_“You’re dismissed,” M had told her many times and always in a voice that made her feel smaller. She never let on, never gave him the satisfaction, instead she held her head high while leaving his office. The powerful head of MI6 never had problems voicing his problem with female agents._

_“Women are weak,” he had said to her when she failed her first mission, when she couldn’t kill a Turkish ambassador because his daughter found them having a midnight drink. He had said nothing when her mission was a success, when it was her, 005, bringing in the important piece of information._

_He had simply said nothing and M had vowed to herself many times to never be like him. When Bond fails his first mission she said nothing too._

Her house isn’t empty anymore. Her daughter has moved in with her. She’s still weak and needs someone to help her sit down on the toilet. M never felt this helpless but she’s learning to accept it, tries not to snap because she wasn’t there when Clara broke her ankle and got her university diploma _,_ but she’s here now. “Thank you, sweetheart,” she says taking a cup of coffee from her daughter’s hands and pats the cushion next to her. “Sit down, please. You’re always running around.”

Clara smiles softly and obeys holding her hands together. She seems worried, something is on her mind and even though M had to sometimes read minds _,_ with her daughter it’s different. She doesn’t know her, doesn’t know her favourite brand of tea or preference for killing. M only regrets half of it.

“Something is bothering you?” she asks _,_ touching her daughter’s nervous hands. Clara is still not looking at her, her hair is falling to her face _,_ and M reaches and grasps her chin. “Is everything alright?” She changes her question and Clara finally shakes her head. M tries not to panic, doesn’t think about what everything could happen to her granddaughter or son in law _,_ but Clara isn’t crying and to her it means it can’t be that bad.

“There was a man in the garden. He was staring at the house,” she whispers quietly, biting her lower lip. “I wasn’t sure if I should tell you.”

M purses her lips, is about to yell at Mallory to call the dogs off but then she realizes they wouldn’t let anyone see them unless they wanted to be seen. He, whoever he was, wanted her or her daughter to see him. It also means he isn’t dangerous. Her mouth suddenly turns up in a smirk.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” she says with a smile. “They’re just making sure we’re safe.” Or at least, he doesand it makes her feel that way.

  

 

_She met Reginald at a bar. She had been there to follow a Russian agent and he to make her marry him, at least which was his version of the story. She hadn’t paid any attention to him but he wouldn’t leave her table so she decided to use him for cover. It worked. The Russian agent suspected nothing and she killed him when she excused herself to tend her make-up. He was still there when she came back and she took him home._

_It helped her to deal and somehow he stayed._

_Sometimes she wonders if Bond does the same._

She stares at his name written neatly on the white envelope. It’s her handwriting but she couldn’t remember writing it. She did it too quickly, before she could think it all over and decide not to invite an MI6 agent to her Christmas party.

It was Clara’s idea, the party _,_ not to invite Bond, because Christmas was near _,_ and Jim and Josephine could come down to London and Brad could come with his family too _,_ and then they could all leave together for the New Year's Eve skiing trip they have planned. And M is glad, she hasn’t seen her son for longer time than is appropriate because he had trouble forgiving her for missing his wedding, and she understood. She has never seen his children and feels more nervous than she did while standing next to the Prime Minister.

Having Bond there could both improve and worsen the situation, she isn’t sure if it’s appropriate. He was her agent, her best one and although she would never admit it to anyone _,_ but her favourite one too. He saved her life, risked his own numerous times _,_ just to let MI6 force her into voluntary retirement _,_ and M is both angry and relieved she never had a chance to thank him.

It’s a fight of paradoxes, of two sides that she’s made of. M, the no longer head of one of the most powerful espionage agencies in the world, and then mother and grandmother and woman _who_ remembers lips kissing her forehead just before everything faded to black. And she has questions burning at the tip of her tongue and thank God not a chance to ask them.

In the end she leaves the envelope with his name and the address she managed to blackmail out of Tanner on top of her desk, it’s not there in the evening and M realizes that some of the choices aren’t even hers.

  

 

_She never understood why her husband stayed at her side. She was never home, never where she was supposed to be, she cheated on him (she never told him but he always knew) and kept disappointing him over and over again. Reginald was a housewife, a cook, a cleaning lady_ _,_ _and she flew all around the world with small revolver hidden in her lingerie. And yet he stayed._

_When Clara was born she had cried and promised to never leave him again. They called her back into service when the baby was only three weeks old_ _,_ _and she left the house without looking back, Reginald said nothing and she tried to reason within her; it’s for the greater good, she had persuaded herself_ _,_ _even when the truth was much more simple._

The Christmas party was a success, her family came together for the first time since Reginald’s funeral and M never felt at such peace, except... She should have known that Bond had no reason to show up, it was a family gathering with a few friends thrown in the mix _,_ and maybe she had just imagined that closeness and intimacy she had felt growing between them. Now she feels stupid, incredibly stupid _,_ and tries to argue with herself. She didn’t really want him to come, she didn’t really want to say “thank you for saving my life”. It was weak and she tried not to be like that ever since it was used against her.

Clara and Julia are helping her clean up the living room, wrapping paper and empty glasses _,_ and they're chatting and laughing _,_ and she feels so uncomfortable that she takes a bag of rubbish and disappears. Only outside she finally feels herself breathe. She holds her phone firmly in her hands, wishes for a cigarette _,_ and does not call Bond. It would be stupid and she’s stupidly thinking about him more than she’s supposed to.

“He was just nobody,” she murmurs and leaves the rubbish outside. Literally.

 

 

_“So you’re my boss?” His smirk was the first thing she noticed about him, he was ambitious and self-righteous_ _,_ _and M just wanted him out of her sight, forever preferably. She knew his kind, her M, her fellow agents, everyone kept underestimating her,_ _and James Bond was just another one in a long line._

_So she stood up and came to stand in front of him. He looked her up and down like a piece of meat and she tried not to flinch, instead she came even closer,_ _standing between his legs. “And don’t you forget it,” she had whispered into his ear just before she pushed the button that sent him for six months into Siberia. He never asked her the same question again._

She didn’t plan to throw another party that soon but they were all staying till New Year's Eve _,_ so they ordered some food and sat down around the Christmas tree. Children were either sulking in the corners or playing,and adults are holding champagne and talking,and it almost felt natural now. M almost forgets about the world coming to an end a few times when she feels her daughter tapping her shoulder.

When she turns around Clara looks worried. “Can you come with me for a second?” she asks and tugs on her hand. She hasn’t done that since she was six years old _,_ and M follows restlessly after her. “There’s a bloodied man in your kitchen, he told me he knows you,” she says where they’re far enough from the small crowd, and she looks scared and curious at the same time. It’s the dangerous combination M used to look for in her agents.

She opens the door then and sees Bond half-sitting on her kitchen floor. He’s dressed in a tuxedo but it no longer looks elegant, there’s blood on his shirt and his bowtie is carelessly untied. He looks sick and she feels bad to admit she’s relieved. She turns to her daughter first.

“Don’t tell anyone, just bring some of Jim’s clothes to my room.” It’s an order and it’s urgent. Clara nods even though there are more than a few questions written all over her face. Then M turns back to Bond, slowly closes the door after her, and walks to him.

He looks pained, tries to smile and then takes something out of his pocket. “I just found it now,” he says. It’s the invitation and she releases a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

“You do realize you’re late?” she notes with her eyebrow raised.

He laughs, starts to choke and she reaches for a glass and pours some water in. M kneels at his side and lets him drink it; he does in almost one gulp and she holds his face in her hands. It feels maternal and it doesn’t, she wants him to feel better but she wants him to feel something else too. She’s confusing herself more and more and then he says “thank you” _,_ and her heart skips a beat.

“Now, no need to thank me. Could you try to get up? We need to get you more comfortable so I can look at your wounds.” She tries to sound clinical and uncaring, but he’s smirking and reaching for her hand. M helps him up and together they’re slowly moving towards her room.

“All my guest rooms are full so this will have to do,” she answers his unspoken question when they reach it. Bond is awfully quiet after that, he sits down when she tells him to, lets her take his jacket off and follows her every movement with his eyes, he won’t look at hers though, and M feels unnerved.

“Why did you send the invitation?” he asks suddenly, and she isn’t ready for him to speak just yet, it almost makes her drop the wet cloth she brought from the bathroom. He’s finally looking at her, really looking at her and she feels herself grow warmer. Those were the eyes watching her die (almost), the same ones which started to fill up with tears even though she tried to ignore seeing them. He was being honest with her then, showing something real. She wants to reciprocate.

“I wanted to thank you,” she whispers desperately holding onto the cloth, the water from it starting to seep through her fingers and drip onto the carpet. She doesn’t care instead she watches his face for any kind of reaction. M doesn’t know what she expects.

“What for?” His question is interrupted by a soft knock on the door and they both turn to see Clara enter with arms full of clothes.

“I wasn’t sure which would fit the best,” she shrugs and passes them onto her mother looking between her and the man sitting on the bed. “I’ll leave you then,” Clara says, before leaving and when M turns back to Bond, he’s smiling.

“You would have to come up with a good answer because she won’t let you off the hook easily.” His eyes are smiling too, he looks much younger than he really is and she just wants to turn around and run, but she can’t. He came here for answers and maybe for something else, and she needs to tell him to get rid of the terrible stone crushing her heart.

“I can handle my daughter,” she says instead and drops the clothes on the bed moving closer to him. “Now, don’t move,” she orders and he listens, leans on his arms and lets her slowly wash away the blood from his face. It helps her uncover a small cut above his eyebrow. They remain silent and it’s comfortable, but then she had to put a plaster on it and it’s too small and she needs to take a better look. They never were this close. Only that she blames for the change of air and no, she isn’t surprised when he brings it back.

“You haven’t answered my question.” It’s a half-whisper and she feels the heat from his body, the same heat rising up her neck. “What did you want to say thank you for?”

She’s ready to answer; it’s been ready on the tip of her tongue since she woke up at the hospital. But she risks a look down and his eyes are looking up, and she feels herself losing control. Many things happened at Skyfall and many things happened before. He made her angry, he infuriated her daily and then he laid the world at her feet. She hated him and loved him, and now she wasn’t sure which answer was the right one anymore. Then his hand reaches for hers and the world ends.

“For being there,” she breathes the words out and they both know the meaning behind them, know what “there” means.

Bond nods and then she finishes cleaning all his wounds, leaves him in her room with spare clothes and joins her family in the living room. Clara is eyeing her curiously and both of them wait for him to step down the stairs. And somehow, the world doesn’t end at all.


End file.
